Giving Thanks
by Fik Freak
Summary: This is a one shot based on a prompt gifted to my Tumblr in box from the ever so gracious Anonymous Smut Fairy. It's Rick giving thanks. A little Richonne smut.


"I think with the war ending we all have a lot to give thanks for. Let us go around the table as in the days gone by, and discuss why we are thankful. Who would like to start?"

"Oooh, me first, Father! Pick me!" Yells Judith, raising her tiny hand to get his attention from her spot perched in Carl's lap between him and Enid.

"She's so cute. Look at her with Carl's hat on." Catching my attention, my wife turns to her left, her beautiful eyes twinkling with happiness and gratefulness as they flit between our children. Alive. Safe in this place that we have fought for and fortified, we are gathered at this table, to give our thanks, to each other, and to the world for blessing us with another chance at life. At living. Swiveling her soft gaze from their glowing faces, her warm brown eyes land on my own, setting my heart ablaze. "Maybe we should tell everyone today?" Lowering her voice an octave, and covering her lips with her delicate fingers, she whispers in my ear, "You know, about the baby."

"We can. If you want. It's definitely something to be thankful for." Grinning at her mention of the surprise growing and flourishing in Michonne's tummy, I ease my hand into her lap. Rubbing my hand across the imperceptible swell of her mostly flat stomach, I can feel the heat rising in my gut at the memory of how the love of my life came to be with child. My child. Needing to feel more of her, getting lost in my own remembrance of the many times I have shown my thanks for this warrior, this goddess by my side, my fingers begin to pull, inch by inch, the gauzy white material of her dress into my greedy palm.

"Rick, what are you doing? We're supposed to be listening to everyone giving thanks."

"Shh. I am. And I'm giving thanks as well." My hand finally reaches its destination underneath the flowing material of my wife's dress, and the heat from the apex of her thighs is calling me to crawl further, closer to her womanhood.

"Oh!" On a breathy sigh, Michonne attempts to school her face, dropping her lids, rimmed in a dearth of long, curled lashes, to cover the lust brimming in her eyes.

"You say something, Chonne?" Daryl asks, turning to his left and looking over into my wife's face for an answer.

Shaking her head, her sexy full lips pulled into her mouth to stifle her moan, Michonne attempts to answer Daryl and get him to refocus his attention away from her.

"I think she's good, Daryl." I answer on her behalf, shaking my head as well, and not wanting his undue attention to cause her to keep her legs closed, warding off my hand.

"Hm. Alright." Daryl gruffly huffs, his eyes quickly assessing both of our faces, searching for a hint of something amiss.

Waiting for him to turn around and away from us, I lean into Michonne and whisper into her ear. "Open." I command, and like the good wife she is, Michonne's thick thighs eagerly part, welcoming my wandering fingers with the naughty surprise that she is not wearing panties. "Nice."

With that, the pads of my fingers roam over and in-between the petals of her womanly flower, damp with the slippery feel of her leaking arousal. A moan of my own filters through my lips, as my cock swells in my jeans at the surprising sensation of how wet and ready Michonne is for my exploration. Her clit is turgid, budding and eager for my touch as it peeks out from its hooded and secreted position. Rubbing the soft bundle, stroking, titillating my lover, from the corner of my eyes I witness how Michonne is grinding against my hand, squirming, seeking. Her beautiful chocolate skin is now flushing a deep scarlet underneath the dusky plum coloring of her cheeks.

Sinking further, I push and dive deeper, two of my fingers now lost past the knuckle, in the depths of her welcoming canal. Not wanting to call attention to the rhythmic thrust of my fingers, and the press of my palm against her clit, I attempt to hide my own wanton arousal. Blinking, licking my tongue over my dry lips, my attention is nowhere near focused on the jubilant declarations being shared around the table. Staring straight ahead, the faces of my family and friends are there, but blurred and out of focus, as nothing matters more in this moment than the secret touch of my wife riding my hand.

And as Daryl mumbles out something about how thankful he is that he finally killed that son of a bitch Dwight, my own control is beginning to slip. The sensation of her in my hand, bathing it awash in her slick juices as she's coming undone, is threatening me in much the same way that it's crumbling her stealth.

"Ah, mmm…" She huffs, covering a satisfied moan with a false clearing of her throat, and lowering her head to cover her face in her palm.

"Dad, Mom, what are you guys thankful for?"

"Hm?" I ask, my eyes bucking in question, looking to Carl for clarification on his unexpected question. "What did you say, son?"

"Daddy, why is your face red?" Judith asks, her voice twinkling with the dulcet tones of her innocent youth. Scrutinizing my face, along with everyone else at the table, she focuses her searching brown eyes on me, then on Michonne. "You ok, Mommy?"

Hurriedly interrupting the impromptu interrogation, Daryl offers, "Don't worry about these two. I think we all already have an idea what they're thankful for." Daryl answers on our behalf, smirking and jerking his thumb our way. "Can we just go ahead and eat already? I'm starving!"

With the attention now temporarily off of us, thanks to what I can only assume is Daryl's rather astute determination that Michonne and I are otherwise occupied, I gift my wife with a flurry of quick internal flicks, hooking my fingers and pressing against the spot that will permit her to take a desperate hold of a satisfying orgasm. Head still down, her long thick dreads are providing a curtain of protection from any prying eyes that would otherwise bear witness to the delighted slack of her aroused features.

The rush of her juices down over my fingers, and across my palm, is keenly welcome, and sets my cock to a hardened steel that only my wife can sate. Michonne quickly attempts to dislodge my wet fingers, tugging at my wrist, seeking some relief from the pleasure that has now soaked her thighs. Removing my hand from the cloak of her dress, I raise them to my mouth and suck away the creamy evidence. Enjoying the tangy, sweetness that is my wife, I lean over to her and kiss her on the cheek.

"In all of the world, I'm most thankful for you." I mutter, for her ears only.


End file.
